A Loss of Brilliance
by StarCollector88
Summary: Micky is struggling to remember a brilliant idea.


A Loss of Brilliance

_"__It all started on Monday…"_

"Micky, did you notice that your shirt is on backwards?" Davy asked.

Micky began moving his hands around his chest looking for the missing eight buttons. He looked down and then turned around in a circle as he attempted to see if the buttons were on his back.

"What do you not believe me or something?"

Micky was taking his arms out of the sleeves and beginning to turn the shirt around. "It isn't that I don't believe you per say; it's just that I feel like I can't trust anything today."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just been a lousy day so far and things were happening that were odd and just out of my control."

"I'm positive that putting your shirt on backwards was in your control."

"I wonder if I have been walking around like this all day," Micky said finally able to readjust the shirt. "And I don't mean this instance in particular; there were other things that happened too which I'm sure added to my confusion and caused me to put my shirt on backwards."

"Then Peter must have a regular series of unfortunate instances because his belt buckle is always sideways," Davy joked.

"Hey!" Peter exclaimed rousing from his intent game of chess with Mr. Schneider. "I'll have you know that I wear my belt buckle askew to be a trendsetter."

"A trendsetter to who exactly? That chap from the nursery rhyme that was crooked?" Davy continued to tease.

Peter rolled his eyes and walked over towards Micky. "So what has made this day so lousy for you, anyway?"

"Well for starters, this morning I accidentally opened the door without pants on and the embarrassment is going to follow me for the rest of my existence," Micky explained.

"Seems like your issues are clothing related today," Davy commented. "How did it come to be that you went to answer the door knowing that you didn't have pants on?"

"Honestly, I don't know! That's the weird hold this day has on me. I was positive I did have pants on and I was just looking for my drumsticks when the knock at the door came. I went to answer it and there was a man doing vacuum cleaner presentations. He began talking and then looked down and stumbled away quickly. I looked down and noticed the transgression."

"That doesn't sound so terrible. I mean you didn't even know that guy and it sounds as though you saved yourself from being scammed," Peter pointed out.

"Now see, why can't you notice a scam coming when it involves yourself?" Davy asked Peter.

"Hello, back to me," Micky waved his arms. "You would think that was the end of that incidence, but it wasn't. As I was stumbling to get back in, I bumped the front door closed and it locked. None of you were home. And there I was pants less in front of the whole world…well Beechwood anyway."

"How did you get back in?" Peter inquired.

"I had to trek to the back door, which as you know is no easy feat."

"You mean you had to walk around through the beach to get back here?" Davy offered.

"Right you are! And it couldn't just be that simple; while I was walking I got chased by a stray dog!"

"Did he catch you?" Peter asked.

"No, luckily it was only a Davy sized dachshund, so I was safe."

"I wish that dog would have nipped your ankles," Davy said irritably.

"So you got back and inside just fine then," Peter concluded.

"Yes and no. You see I got back inside alright but I wouldn't say things were fine…"

"What could have possibly happened?" Davy said growing weary of the story already.

"When I got back inside, I noticed that the front door was now ajar. It was definitely locked as I tried to get back in, so the only logical explanation is…"

"That one of us came back?" Peter suggested.

"Hmm, now that you mention it that does make more sense. My mind told me that the vacuum man came back to steal all our valuables in his vacuum."

"What valuables?" Davy asked.

"Maybe he liked what he saw and was coming for me. Anyway, I got prepared to fight…"

"You're still without pants, correct?" Davy inquired.

"Yes, will you let me finish? I stance up to secure the perimeter and I heard shuffling right outside the door. I square up to the left and wait for the perpetrator to reenter. I see a shadow making its way through the door and a boot crossed the threshold. I attacked."

Micky looked a mixture between pleased with his swift course of action and apprehensive to share the next part of the story.

"And…" Peter pressed.

"And like you would have expected I took down the offender…which happened to be Mike…carrying a large crate of eggs."

Davy put his hand over his face and Peter's jaw dropped wide open.

"I protected the domicile," Micky offered weakly.

"I'm surprised you're still alive and Mike didn't kill you," Davy said still in shock.

"What was his reaction?" Peter regained his composure.

"Ironically, his main concern was where my pants were."

"That would have been mine too," Davy agreed.

"I helped him up and he just looked down at the eggy mess, then turned around and walked out."

"Not even cleaning himself off?" Peter wondered.

"Nope, I honestly think he was too angry to do anything."

"Well, that explains his absence," Davy stated. "Is that the end of your excursion?"

"Almost…I did have an interesting time trying to clean the egg up. I kept falling over and had to change my clothes."

"You mean shirt," Peter pointed out.

"And here we are at your backwards shirt. That doesn't sound so bad. We've been through worse," Davy mentioned.

"Easy for you to say, you didn't have to go traipsing around in your skivvies or pissed Mike off so much that he still hasn't returned."

"You can put it all behind you and get back to your day," Peter offered.

"Forever the optimist Peter," Micky relented. "The day is still young and I did have a brilliant idea yesterday that I wanted to get cracking on."

"I thought you wanted your day to get better," Davy teased.

"Ha-ha, very funny."

"What is the idea?" Peter asked interestedly.

"Well, uh I didn't think of a title yet."

"That's unusual for you. Usually the title is the first thing you think of," Peter pointed out.

"Yeah, but something caught my attention yesterday and the wheels began turning. The need for this is dire."

"Well, what is it then?" Davy pressed.

"Um, you see it's…" Micky stumbled searching his brain. "It had to do with um…the stuff…"

"What stuff?"

Micky stood for a moment trying to think of what the idea had been. He was opening up the filing cabinets in his mind and coming up empty. All he could think about was the events of this day so far. When he tried to think of yesterday, he couldn't remember a single detail.

"Actually, I can't remember…"

"How could you not remember?" Peter wondered aloud.

"I will remember!" Micky protested. "I just can't think with all these questions. I need complete and utter silence while I work."

"That would be a change from what you usually provide everyone else with when they are trying to work on something," Davy said.

"Maybe my idea had something to do with helping the vertically challenged reach high shelves," Micky shot back.

"Come on, Davy, let's go and let Micky work on his idea," Peter diffused the situation. "Holler if you need help with anything."

Micky sat down at the table with a notepad and paper. He reached his arms out in front of him and stretched. "Finally! Some peace and quiet."

* * *

"It's too quiet around here!" Micky blurted out almost an hour later.

He had been wracking his brain all that time trying to recall yesterday's stroke of genius and was still coming up empty handed. What was going on with him? Had the day really taken that much of a toll on him? Was the embarrassment giving him a mental block? Micky pressed his forehead against the table and let out a long, loud sigh. He tried to think about ways to improve this scenario.

"I've got it!" he said to no one in particular. "I must be hungry. You can't think on an empty stomach."

Micky shot up and opened the fridge to discover it was a barren wasteland. He opened one cabinet door to find a family of spiders nesting. Another cabinet filled with dust particles. Third times a charm and he found the can of split pea soup that had been there since they moved in two years before.

"It's better than nothing," he shrugged as he opened the can. The contents had turned a disgusting shade of brown. "On second thought, I'm actually not hungry."

Micky sat down at the table again and looked at the empty notepad. He tapped his pencil on the table. He used his other hand to tap along with the pencil creating a beat.

"That's it, playing the drums for a bit is sure to get my creative juices flowing!"

Micky seated himself behind the drum kit. He reached for his drumsticks that he usually left right on top. The sticks weren't there. He turned around looking all over the floor to see if they had dropped somewhere. No luck. He sat for a moment contemplating how to move forward. There was no way he was going to use anything other than drumsticks; learned that the hard way when he punctured his tom tom with a soup ladle.

"Maybe I'm just not in the space for creativity today," Micky said and his face lit up. "That's right! I'm having difficulty being creative today, because I'm just not in that head space. I can't very well force outcomes. I'll come back to this later when I'm in the right state of mind."

He headed up to his room and changed into his swim trunks.

"A change of scenery will do me good. And who knows maybe something there will jog my memory."

* * *

Micky reentered the pad. He was still toweling off his hair when he was stopped in his tracks. There at the table was a less eggy Mike. Micky was still a little apprehensive about approaching Mike; the Texan's temper could reach catastrophic levels. Micky crept further into the pad hoping that he could sneak past Mike. He was reading the paper and facing away from the path Micky would take to go upstairs.

Micky was about to climb the first step when he cringed at the sound of a familiar voice. "Hey, Mick whatcha been up to?" Mike asked without even looking away from the paper.

Micky turned around slowly. "Oh Mike, I didn't see you there."

"You had to have seen me here," Mike deadpanned.

"Right…I see that you're looking a lot less eggy these days."

"It's amazing what a shower can do."

"I'm sorry…" Micky began.

Mike lowered the paper and put up his hand. "No need, I know it was an accident."

Micky let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks. Have you seen my drumsticks?"

"Can't say that I have. You are always losing things and leaving your stuff all over. Speaking of, do know your notepad is over here by me?"

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that. I guess that may be a better use of my time."

"I wouldn't go that far…" Mike said with a tinge of exasperation in his voice.

"Do you remember me saying anything specific yesterday about a brilliant idea?" Micky asked ignoring Mike's comment.

"Thankfully I don't remember being annoyed by the fact that you had an idea."

"Huh, well what did we do yesterday? Anything that stands out that would've caused me to think of something that needed an idea?"

Mike paused and thought for a minute. "We did run all over town trying to save Peter from those ostrich poachers."

"Oh yeah I forgot about that."

"How do you forget something like that?"

"I don't know that seems to be a theme with me lately," Micky mused. "I don't think anything during that escapade triggered any ideas. We were mostly just romping around trying to cause an ostrich stampede and for some reason Davy had to dress up as a woman. I don't think any of that warranted a brilliant idea."

"Maybe it was about getting ourselves a mannequin so that I don't have to keep becoming a girl," Davy said emerging from his bedroom.

"Nah, that can't be it! You're so beautiful!" Micky said lightly slapping Davy's cheek a few times.

"What's with all the questions anyway?" Mike inquired.

"I had an idea yesterday and I can't for the life of me remember it."

"Maybe that's a good thing and you should cut your losses," Davy remarked.

"It will come to me eventually and then I can do that plus anything else that comes my way."

"Oh goody," Mike said sarcastically.

Micky grabbed the notepad and pencil and headed over to the hammock. "I knew you would be excited. Now I think I need relaxation to be able to think clearly."

"This is definitely a turn of events, maybe you'll actually come up with an idea that's would potentially be helpful."

"Mike you flatter me!"

"I don't think you understand sarcasm."

Micky swung around in the hammock. "Good thinking, Mike! Maybe there's something to that. I will work on it after I continue on with…hmmm when I remember the idea from yesterday."

* * *

Micky awoke with a startle. He was having a difficult time adjusting and recalling what was exactly going on. He shook his head and looked around him. It was pitch black. He sat up and flipped over onto the floor. Oh yeah, he had been in the hammock and must have fallen asleep.

Micky looked at his watch. Midnight. _Great._ He felt as though he had wasted his entire day. He looked at the notepad that was lying on the floor. The only things written on it were his name and doodles of Davy trying to reach a high shelf. He snickered to himself.

"Well, no use trying to force outcomes right? I'll remember eventually. Might as well try to think of something new tomorrow."

Micky got up and started heading for the stairs. His foot slid on something and he waved his arms around trying to retain his balance. He failed and fell right back on the floor. He sat up and rubbed his sore backside when he suddenly had a realization.

"My drumsticks!"

His hands searched in the dark for the culprit of his fall. Micky's hand came in contact with…the pencil. He looked down at it and frowned.

"I have got to find those sticks."

* * *

"What is that terrible racket," Davy asked Peter as they walked out of their shared bedroom.

"Earthquake?" Peter offered.

Davy looked around at the chaos that was enveloping the common area. "No, more like Hurricane Micky. Would you look at this mess?"

Micky looked up from the cabinet he was digging through. "Have you guys seen my drumsticks?"

"What do you need drumsticks for this early?" Davy questioned.

"I don't need them it's just been bothering me," Micky explained. "I started out looking for our song list book. I figured that maybe I had a title in mind for my brilliant idea and the title will jog my memory as to what it was."

Peter lumbered over to the cabinet right next to the one Micky was rifling through and pulled out a notebook. He handed it to Micky without saying a word and walked back into the bedroom.

"What's with him?"

"It's 5:30 am and you know how Peter gets when he hasn't had his sleep. Why aren't you asleep?"

"I couldn't fall back asleep after waking up in the hammock. Too much on my mind… actually no, there isn't enough on my mind. This lapse in memory is really getting to me. First the idea, then the drumsticks, now I can't find common things we keep around here. I'm losing it."

"No, you've already lost it," Davy teased. "Maybe you are just having something like a writer's block about ideas and it is affecting everything else. You're focused way too much on it."

"That's it though; I'm not focused enough on it. Yesterday I just kept putting it off by doing other things and now I'm afraid I've been away from it too long to recall now."

"Whatever you say. Far be it from me to stand between a man and his mental breakdown. Since you have the notebook now, can you keep it down? I don't want to deal with a cranky Tork."

"Yeah, yeah," Micky agreed beginning to thumb through the notebook filled with titles and lyrics.

* * *

"Well, it's officially hopeless!" Micky announced to no one in particular.

The other three Monkees turned to face the drummer with irritated looks on their faces. Micky had been reviewing their song catalog over and over for hours and making annoyed grunts and commentary through the process. It was exhausting to deal with, even for Micky's behavior.

"Okay, I'll bite," Mike encouraged. "What's hopeless?"

"I must not have even thought of a title for my brilliant idea because no songs are jumping out at me."

"You already told us that you hadn't titled it," Peter said.

"Give it a rest will ya?" Davy complained. "If you haven't thought of it by now then it's probably long gone."

"But it was so good!" Micky protested.

"How do you even know that when you can't remember what it even had to do with?" Davy pushed.

"I just remember the feeling I had about it."

"I understand it's probably like the feeling I got when I say something smart," Peter said triumphantly.

"See Peter gets it. Things like that don't come around often."

"Hey!" Peter declared defensively.

Micky slumped into the chair he had been sitting in and banged his head against the table.

"This is ridiculous, Mick," Mike said. "I don't understand why you can't just move on and do something else."

Micky perked up. "You're right Mike. Here I am sulking over missed opportunities when there is a whole notebook here filled with titles to work an idea around."

"That's not what I meant," Mike hung his head and put his hand to his forehead.

"This is an excellent plan! What I'll do is brainstorm ideas to go with these titles and then pitch them to you guys to see what the best option is."

"Nice going, Mike," Davy criticized.

"Okay, give me…" Micky looked at his watch, "fifteen minutes to come up with presentation."

"Fifteen minutes?" Peter wondered aloud.

"It would be shorter, but I feel like I need time to make poster boards."

Micky rushed upstairs into his bedroom to get to work.

"I've got a brilliant idea," Davy said. "I'm going to leave and you two can be the audience."

Mike grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down into the chair. "Nice try, Tiny. But we all have to humor him now so that he will move onto something else soon."

"Why should I have to suffer for his bad memory and your big mouth?" Davy asked.

"Because if you don't I have a brilliant idea to kick your ass."

Davy gulped. "Like I said, he needs this so he can move on."

* * *

"Alright gentlemen," Micky said.

Fifteen minutes after he had raced upstairs, he had emerged with poster boards and an easel. He was dressed in a business suit as if he was pitching ideas to high power executives, Which is probably why he insisted that the other three put on their suits as well (though they all had to remind Peter that he meant a business suit and not his Monkeeman costume).

Micky pulled out a pointer. "Now I have come up with some potential ideas that are sure to impress."

"It's impressive how short of time it takes to come up with dumb ideas," Davy whispered.

Mike kicked him under the table. "Proceed Mr. Dolenz. We all have busy schedules to get back to."

"Yeah, I was going to go hunt for turtles today," Peter pouted.

"Up first," Micky slapped the poster board with the pointer, "we have _Nine Times Blue_ a paint store that only sells paint in nine different shades of blue. This project has a potential to expand the operation in the future with a second store _Shades of Gray_ which…"

"Will only sell gray paint," Davy finished.

"Jones, we are on the same wavelength and I may hire you on as a consultant. Now, number two is _Can _You_Dig It? _a company that specializes in archeological digs."

"Micky, you don't know the first thing about archeology. And I don't think anyone would trust a long haired weirdo with no experience," Mike interrupted.

"I could learn. Anyway, number three _Don't Call On Me_ a phone service that intercepts that calls that people don't want to take."

"How would anyone be able to do that when we can't even begin to know who calls?" Peter asked.

"Some of these don't have all the kinks worked out yet…Oh, here's a good one _Zilch_ we could sell clothes."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard in me life," Davy blurted out. "Why would you name a clothing store _Zilch_? It makes no sense."

"I just thought it sounded good," Micky said his beginning enthusiasm starting to wane. "_Writing the Wrongs_ a service to edit people's writing?"

"Which of us could possibly be good at something like that. It's a wonder we can even read at all," Mike pointed out.

"Okay, okay," Micky said shuffling through his notecards. "_Crippled Lion _veterinary services…no…_Daily Nightly_ appointment keeping…no…_The Porpoise Song_ aquarium store…no that doesn't even make sense…"

"Very little of this does," Davy ridiculed.

"You're doing great Micky," Peter cheered him on.

"_You_ would think that," Davy countered.

Micky searched through his notes. "There's gotta be something that's worth something in here…Ah, here it is. _Apples, Peaches, Bananas, and Pears_ fruit stand!"

Mike lowered his head. "I don't think so, Mick. To be honest, you're ideas are never necessarily _good_, but you've definitely scraped the bottom of the barrel for these."

"I know, I know," Micky said defeated. "I'm having a hard time even getting something that makes remotely any sense."

Micky slumped down into the nearest chair and rested his head in his hands. He looked so defeated. It was a rarity to see Micky so down in the dumps. When he got this way he tended to overthink everything and live in that misery. The same thing happened when he broke up with a girlfriend he was hammock bound for so long that the guys had set him up on dates. No one wanted things to get to that point again.

"Say Mick, you know what would take your mind off this?" Mike offered.

"Destruction?"

"I mean sure that could work…or we could practice for that gig we have coming up."

"I don't even have my drumsticks."

"What do you mean you don't have your drumsticks? Still?" Peter asked.

"I haven't found them yet! I'm not of much use to anyone I guess," Micky said glumly.

"Listen, you can't keep feeling sorry for yourself," Mike scolded. "Until we find yours, you can use Davy's."

Davy's ears perked up. "What? You must be joking! He's rough on those things! I don't want him breaking mine!"

Mike leaned over and whispered, "I need him to get out of this funk, so you WILL let him use yours. Got it?" Mike poked Davy in the chest.

Davy let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine, just be careful with these."

Micky's eyes lit up at the opportunity to play. "Sure thing, pal…oops!"

As he went to grab the sticks from Davy they clattered to the ground. Davy put his hand over his eyes and shook his head.

"We're off to an excellent start," he said sarcastically.

* * *

"You know I could do without waking up to all this clanging and banging that there has been recently," Davy commented.

For the second day in a row, he and Peter had emerged from their bedroom to the sounds of Micky frantically trying to create…well remembrance or whatever. Today, he was hunched over the table mulling over documents, folders, and containers. Mike was descending the stairs looking equal parts annoyed and confused.

"Do we have to do this every morn…Why are your hands green?" Mike asked startled.

Micky casually looked over his lime green palms. "That's a good question." And he quickly began rummaging around again.

"What are you doing now?" Peter asked.

"Yeah I thought we all came to an agreement yesterday that you would give this a rest until you were naturally inspired," Davy complained.

"We did have that conversation. And then I thought about the reason behind this forgetfulness and lack of creativity as of late and I realized something…"

"That you're completely out of your mind?" Mike offered.

"No, no my good man. Quite the opposite. I need to be more organized."

"How is that the opposite?" Davy questioned.

Micky ignored the question and continued on. "What I need is some sort of filing and storage system with some type of order. You know what they say 'A is for organization'."

"According to what alphabet?" Mike questioned.

"See that's what I mean, I don't have my head screwed on straight without organization!"

"No, I think you were just born that way," Davy remarked.

"How is organizing past failu…I mean projects supposed to help you remember or become more in tune with a new idea?" Mike asked.

"Well, it doesn't, but then I have more opportunity to store ideas and not forget."

"That is if you actually use the system," Peter pointed out.

"There's always a loophole isn't there? Don't worry I'll think of something…eventually."

"Do me a favor and think of a way to do this more quietly so that I can go back to sleep," Mike requested.

"I second that," Peter said groggily already heading back into his room.

"Will do!" Micky said with a salute. "Maybe thinking about how to be quiet will spark an idea."

"One can only hope so the madness will stop," Davy said as he followed Peter.

* * *

"Done!"

"About time, that only took you what five hours?" Mike asked.

"I mean almost six, but who's counting?"

Micky's attempt at organization had made an even bigger mess than there initially was. Before his projects were just scattered around here and there. It was easy to overlook or push things to the side. Now that he had this whole system, things were all condensed into one space, making a monstrous heap of papers and containers stacked haphazardly. One false move and there would be an avalanche of fruitless past projects.

"Now what are you planning on doing with that eyesore? You can't just leave it out in the open taking up space and making this place look worse than it already does," Mike wondered.

"What do you mean eyesore? This is the epitome of order and genius. It would be a privilege to leave this out for everyone to see."

"If you don't figure out where to put this stuff, I'm going to put it where I feel like it needs to go. And buddy, I don't think you're going to like my answer."

"The trash?" Micky gulped.

"You would be so lucky," Mike said irritably. "And I also don't want this monstrosity taking up residence in our bedroom either."

Micky scratched his head. "The closet it is then." He started moving piles to the already overflowing closet.

"Did you find or think of any ideas?" Peter asked as he helped Micky rearrange things in the closet.

Micky sighed deeply. "No. I'm honestly starting to think I've lost it."

"What your mind?" Davy quipped.

"Haha very funny! No, my gift. The ability to think of brilliant ideas."

"If someone else besides you would call those ideas brilliant," Mike criticized.

"I didn't see you complaining when I cut our travel time in half with _Take a Giant Step_."

"Somehow I didn't see the benefit of walking on stilts instead of regularly," Mike shot back.

"Longer strides!" Micky defended. "And Davy got to be tall, a win-win situation for all involved."

"I'm not even going to comment on that one," Davy said.

"But it's all a distant memory now," Micky dramatically put a hand across his forehead.

"Maybe I could help you come up with something," Peter offered.

"Absolutely not, Shotgun!" Mike scolded. "You know that you aren't supposed to encourage him. Maybe this loss of brilliance will be the best for everyone."

Peter slunk away from Micky like a guilty puppy dog. When Mike turned around and began reading the classifieds for gigs, Micky reached out and grabbed Peter's arm.

Micky got very close and whispered, "How good are you with a pocket watch?"

* * *

Micky was following the pocket watch Peter was swinging back and forth diligently.

"You are getting very sleepy," Peter attempted to mimic a hypnotist. "Sleepy!"

Micky still had his eyes wide open. He was silent which Peter took as a potential good sign.

"Okay maybe we're sleeping with our eyes open. Micky, I want you to look deep into your subconscious."

"I bet if we didn't get into so many hijinks we would be more successful at obtaining gigs," Micky said monotone.

"Deeper," Peter urged.

"The drums are the best way to harness the restlessness that comes along with feelings of anxiety."

"Almost there, just a bit deeper."

"What is life? What is the meaning and purpose? Are we just specks existing in a vast cosmic orb of…?"

"Okay too deep. Dial it down a few notches," Peter directed. "Now Micky, let's travel back to a few days ago. You had an idea, what did it involve?"

"I'm sorry the subconscious you are trying to reach is not here at the moment, try again later," Micky stated in his faux secretary voice.

Peter snapped his fingers and dropped the watch. "Alright, this isn't working."

"What happened? Did I say something relevant?" Micky asked out of his stupor.

"Hardly," Peter answered. "Unless you want to count that you were contemplating the purpose of man in the universe."

"Nah, that isn't anything useful," Micky sat up and put his head in his hands.

At that moment, Mike entered through the back patio door. He surveyed the scene in front of him trying to figure out what Micky and Peter were up to. He noticed something but that didn't give him any answers about their shenanigans.

"Why is my grandfather's pocket watch just lying on the floor?" Mike asked angrily as he scooped the treasured memento off the ground.

"You see, I was trying to help Micky remember…" Peter tried explaining.

"Didn't I just tell you to leave him to figure this out on his own?" Mike interrupted.

"He was only trying to help…" Micky defended Peter.

"And you, I have had it up to here with this idea nonsense. You can't remember one thing or come up with anything else and I think that does us all a heap of good. You are continuing to hijack our time, things, and overall sanity for something that isn't even that important!"

"It's important to me!" Micky yelled back.

"This is doing nothing but annoying and frustrating everyone involved. Now I know that you have the stubborn quality to keep at something, but it's time to just give up on it for now."

There was silence for quite some time. It seemed like an eternity before anyone had the guts to address Mike's claims. The tension was thick. Peter was uncomfortable with the confrontation. Mike looked as though he regretted what he had just said. And Micky was impossible to read at the moment. He didn't have his usual smirk or even the less familiar angry glare that he got. He just looked blank.

"I just can't give up on this Mike. It's my gimmick. If I don't have this then what am I?" Micky said softly.

"You are Micky Dolenz, the drummer of The Monkees," Mike clarified.

"What if I want to be more than that? This is part of my identity. I can't lose it."

With that he bolted out the door. He needed to think things through.

* * *

"And here I am now still idea-less. I started to feel misty eyed back there and had to get out in clear my head, you know?" Micky stated.

The man at the bus stop Micky had been talking to looked at him in confusion.

"You're a really good listener," Micky commented.

"I didn't really have a choice," the man answered, "I'm waiting and you just started talking."

"I know right? It's a right place, right time type of situation huh?"

The man rolled his eyes. "What were you hoping to accomplish by telling me all this?"

Micky paused for a moment. "I'm not really sure. Maybe I thought by getting it out of my system something would spark my memory or creativity. Plus I needed to get away from Mike. He seems to be annoyed by me."

"Why do you feel you need an idea so badly?" the stranger asked.

Micky shrugged, "It's just what I do. If I didn't have this what else would I do with my time? I can only handle getting into so many scrapes a week with the guys. Brilliant ideas are a my time thing."

"What about the music?"

"I mean that is another part of my life, but I share that," Micky said clearly becoming discouraged with the thought of losing his object of individuality.

The stranger noticed that Micky's head was down and he was slouched. He decided to change the subject slightly.

"My main question is whatever did happen to those drumsticks? They couldn't have disappeared into thin air."

Micky perked up a bit. "It seems to be that way. I can't for the life of me think about where they could have gone."

"Sounds like something underhanded maybe going on there."

"What do you me- Wait, say that again."

"Something underhanded, like someone hid them from you."

Micky's eyes widened. "That's it!"

"What's it?"

Without another word Micky bolted upright and vigorously shook the man's hand before running in the direction of home.

* * *

_Clank! Clank!_

"Not again," Mike droned as he headed down the spiral staircase.

In the kitchen Micky was pulling things from the cabinet under the sink. Before Mike could even ask him what in tarnation he was doing, Micky dove head first under the sink.

"What is that noise?" Davy asked wandering out of the bathroom in a towel.

Peter was sitting at the table watching Micky seemingly entranced by the process.

"Micky remembered something," Peter said absently.

"Finally!" Mike threw his hands up in the air.

"Did he remember the idea?" Davy inquired further.

"I don't know what exactly he remembered," Peter answered. "All I know is that he rushed in here and started babbling on about remembering. Most of what he said was unintelligible."

"Gee, I thought you spoke that language," Davy remarked.

Before Peter could come up with a clever retort…

"Eureka!" Micky exclaimed as he jumped from under the sink holding his very own drumsticks.

The other three looked at Micky dumbfounded. Peter's jaw dropped, Mike scratched his wool hat clad head, and Davy almost dropped his towel.

"That's it? You remembered where you stashed you drumsticks?" Davy asked.

"You didn't remember the idea?" Peter added.

"So we are still subjected to this?" Mike complained.

"Yes Davy, no Peter, and Mike I don't know exactly what you mean by that, but quite possibly."

"So what's all this then? You did have an idea and it was to put your drumsticks under the kitchen sink?" Davy asked.

"Right you are my little crumpet," Micky said triumphantly.

"What kind of idea was that? An idea to see how insane you could drive yourself…and the rest of us," Mike guessed.

"That's where you're wrong, my friend," Micky explained. "You see I kept losing my drumsticks and when I did keep them on top of the drum kit the sticks had a tendency to roll off onto the floor. This caused them to get lost another way besides me misplacing them as well as Mike tripping on them on multiple occasions."

"Uh huh…" Mike coaxed Micky along.

"So I knew I needed a new place to keep them that was foolproof."

"Well, you definitely did that because you're the fool that couldn't find them," Davy commented.

"So your brilliant idea was to keep them under the sink?" Peter wondered.

"Precisely, Peter my boy," Micky answered. "This way the sticks are out of the way and everyone is happy."

"Except you forgot where you put them and you've been driving the rest of us crazy trying to remember an idea and where you put your drumsticks, when the two were related to begin with," Mike sighed shaking his head.

"That's the best part! Two birds, one stone. Or should I say two drumsticks, one sink."

"Why the sink though? What made that the brilliant idea?" Davy pressed.

"I thought the phrase everything but the kitchen sink would help me remember," Micky said sheepishly.

"What did help you remember?" Peter was more intrigued by the situation rather than irritated like Mike and Davy.

"I was talking to this guy at the bus stop…"

"Why the bus stop?" Peter asked.

"That's where I do my best thinking. Anyway, he said something about 'underhanded' and it clicked. 'Under' as in under the sink and 'handed' as in drumsticks go in my hands."

"Wonderful," Mike rolled his eyes, "Do us all a favor and next time tell someone else where you've hidden those things."

"Oh Mike, the search is half the fun!"

"Yeah sure these past few days have been a regular riot."

Everyone began to disperse and go back to what they had been doing before Hurricane Micky disrupted them.

"I guess everything is back to normal," Micky commented.

"There's no such thing here," Mike said as he ascended the spiral staircase.


End file.
